


The King of Nowhere

by AWitchesBrew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Dubious Consent, Fae & Fairies, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Mind Control, Sad Harry, Slight Underage (Harry is 17), fae tom, riddle mannor, some really weird fog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-08-06 02:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWitchesBrew/pseuds/AWitchesBrew
Summary: After a failed attempt to recreate the memories of his parents in the forest surrounding Little Hangleton, Harry is lured to a magical land where he meets a mysterious dark-haired man with strange pointed ears and red eyes, who seems far too interested in one mere lonely orphan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnyxStitches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxStitches/gifts).



> So this is the first fic I've ever posted and I had so much fun writing this! I hope you enjoy it OnyxStiches! I have also done a moodboard for this and I will link to it when all the authors will be revealed on the 5th of November!  
> Note, this has now been beated (thank god) and the edited chapter posted 16/01/19.

It was a crisp winter night when Harry Potter braved the elements and set off on a self-imposed quest. A quest that would soon end in miserable failure. 

With the snow crunching under his shoes, Harry could not stop the wave of disappointment and grief that flooded his entire being. 

At least he was in the perfect setting for a good brood. The endless barren trees were his only witnesses in the deserted forest.

He should have known that visiting this place would have only made things worse… But hope was a reckless and boundless thing. 

Harry had been scheming all week in order to sneak away from the Dursley’s and come to the shadowy forest. The dark trees wreathed in mist proved to make an enticing picture when framed by his frosted window, and Harry had been keen to explore it ever since setting eyes on it. 

It was a tradition of sorts, to visit the forest whenever it was coated in a pristine blanket of snow. 

While it was a mere shadow compared to the woods surrounding Godric’s Hollow, Harry always hoped it would be enough to recreate his nostalgia-filled memories. He clung to them with a manic zeal, especially over these past few months. 

He knew it was impossible, but he longed to see the vibrant red hair of his mum whipping past as his dad chased her down, throwing snowballs with his wicked aim. He wanted to hear their giggles echoing across the trees. He wanted to help them pick the best branches of holly for the wreath. He wanted to warm up by the fire afterwards with a cup of his mum’s special hot chocolate. 

His hopes were dashed after a mere five minutes of wandering under the dim glow of a waxing moon. It was nothing like the light and cheery world of his past in Godric’s Hollow. 

While it had been months since the accident, the reality of being the lonely orphan boy that Dudley so often loved to tease him about finally struck. There was no helping the tears that slid silently down his cheeks. 

He would not lie and say that he had been holding it together. He didn’t know how anyone who had lost their family was supposed to. His life had gone to shit so quickly that he often didn’t even know how he was still functioning. If this exhausting, emotional existence could be called living. 

Things had only gotten impossibly worse when he was sent to live with his estranged Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Harry didn’t know why they had agreed to take him in when all they did was use every waking moment as a chance to express their hate at his existence. Not even his friends could help, as much as they desperately wanted to. Despite not living too far away, Uncle Vernon had broken that essential tie when he moved the family up to North Yorkshire just a week after Harry moved in. 

According to Vernon’s boasting, he’d been promoted to a new role in his company. For reasons unknown to Harry (probably purposely withheld from him), this meant that they all had to move to a tiny village called Little Hangleton. The old manor was to be there new home and their purpose there was to sort out the affairs of the now decades deceased Riddle family. Why a drilling company was in charge of a dead aristocratic family’s house, Harry did not want to know. The company had most likely been given the estate in a will, and like a vulture seizing a carcass, it was going to strip the house of all it’s worth. Rather like the Dursley’s seemed to be doing to Harry. 

Ron and Hermione tried to write as often as they could but Harry still missed them dearly, sometimes as much as he missed his parents. He clung to their letters like the lifeline they were, hungry for news that didn’t revolve around the Dursleys. 

The loneliness ached stronger than ever. Yet, he could not turn back; did not want to if it meant going back to the Dursley’s and that eerie manor. 

He walked deeper into the forest, his feeble torchlight struggling to penetrate the sudden swirling fog that blanketed the trees. 

Harry tried to take comfort in his somewhat bleak surroundings, grateful for the silence and peace away from the oppressive atmosphere of Riddle Manor and its awful new occupants. 

But the unceasing eerie feeling that followed Harry wouldn’t let him relax or escape his grief. It was too quiet for Harry to lose himself, to forget about his train wreck of a life; too barren and dark to be blissfully distracting. 

How odd, Harry thought dazedly when he saw something that finally took his mind off his rotten plight. 

The thick fog Harry had been roaming through was now glowing with an unnatural blue hue. It curled around him in a mock caress, as if beckoning him deeper, waiting for him to follow obediently. 

He didn’t think. Not about the impossibility of sentient fog, or about its strange colour. He instead trailed after it with his curiosity peaked and his heart thrumming with an unexpected excitement. 

Harry didn’t know how long he followed the fog, whether it was for a few meters or several miles. 

After a moment he saw carved ice sconces adorning the trees, holding dim balls of white light within, allowing Harry to see a small path that twisted out of sight. He followed still, eager to find what lay ahead. 

His pace quickened along with the fog, which spun and flourished with the shared manic frenzy that infected Harry. 

Slowly, music floated on the air towards him; soft lilting notes travelling on the biting wind and luring Harry to its source. He was utterly spellbound, now running, unable to stop even if he wanted to.

There was a new tugging sensation at his navel as he drew closer and the music grew louder.

Frantic drum beats were now echoing through the trees, pacing the melody and beginning to race towards a final climax. 

Harry passed through what felt like a cold invisible curtain, shivering as he did, and then at long last, he burst into a blue-lit clearing. 

Whatever noise he made was covered up by the loud finale of the song that a large circle of people, linked arm in arm, had been dancing too. They all cheered (a woman with dark curly hair went so far as to howl in delight) when the music stopped. All too soon another enchanting tune filled the air and the dancers, some of whom were still cheering, leapt into a complicated dance with far too much ease. 

No one had noticed Harry’s rushed entrance, all too caught up in the undeniably wondrous and extravagant surroundings. 

Harry was equally enthralled, his gaze ravenously taking everything in. 

Decorated with more of the same ice lights, the clearing looked like a whole other world. He couldn’t possibly be in the same forest that surrounds the dingy village of Little Hangleton. 

Everything gleamed and radiated magic, from the snow-covered bare trees (mysteriously the snow didn’t cover a single inch of the ground, not that Harry was complaining - at least he wouldn’t slip on the cold silver floor) to the glittering frost covered spider webs. 

Looking around, he found himself by a long table crammed with food. No one else was hovering nearby and Harry couldn’t understand why. What lay on that table was the most tantalising sight Harry had ever seen. 

Pyramids of ripe peaches, pears and plums towered above silver bowls of deep red cherries, luscious grapes and sweet pomegranate seeds. His mouth salivated at the various roast birds, from succulent pheasants to what must have been a peacock, judging by the feathers that adorned it. There were racks of lamb, big slabs of beef and even a whole pig with an apple stuffed in its mouth. Crispy brown roast potatoes and every kind of vegetable Harry could ever want lay on sparkling silver platters, begging him to devour them all. Gold goblets filled with a mysterious liquid, gleamed in the low light, making themselves look far too tempting than for their own good. 

He reached out towards the tower of peaches, his stomach growling as he thought of the measly dinner of cold soup the Dursley’s had given him that night. 

A hand clamped like a manacle around his wrist, jolting Harry into dropping the peach that had just been so close to his lips. 

“Now what do we have here?” A cold voice whispered in his ear, the stranger’s cool breath fanning across Harry’s flushed skin. 

He felt a hard body trapping him from behind as an arm encircled his waist, pulling him closer still. 

Incensed at whoever grabbed him, Harry whipped his head around to glare at the stranger who would dare to deny him a bite of the delicious peach. 

“Someone who’s starving and pissed,” he retorted. Yet he froze as the asshole in question came into view. 

The first thought that came into his head was that the man was stupidly handsome and far too tall. It should be illegal for anyone to look that good.

The man had a sharp sculpted face, framed by dark hair that sported one single flawless curl. Long and pointed ears only added to his inhuman air. Lips that were now curled into a smirk lingered too close to Harry’s face. 

But it was his eyes that caught Harry’s attention as he craned his neck to meet them. They were the same deep red as the cherries, glinting in dark amusement and not at all fazed by Harry’s anger. 

“One would be wise not to eat before the King. You wouldn’t want to incur his wrath, now, would you?” The stranger said in a silky voice, his smirk growing wider. 

Harry had a nasty feeling that he was deliberately telling a joke Harry wouldn’t understand, and this only served to fuel his ire. 

“Well, the King can go fuck himself. Why should I wait for him? Am I expected to starve because he refuses to eat?” Harry knew that he sounded like a carbon copy of Dudley, but he didn’t in the least bit care. 

Neither did the man, who threw his head back and let out a deep, echoing laugh at Harry’s petulant response. 

“You’re lucky the king likes you” 

“Am I supposed to care about that?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is this bloody king anyway?” 

“The king's favour is something that should be your utmost priority when in this circle. You would be dead before daybreak without it.”

It was the calmest death threat Harry had ever heard. Not that he had much experience with them, but the man was chillingly blasé about it.

He ignored Harry's stunned silence and carried on with a charming smile as if no threat left his lips. 

“It's been too long since we've had a new face. Certainly not one so pretty.” He leered down at Harry, the stranger’s smile deepening as his eyes hardened. “Come, entertain me.” The man’s tone brooked no argument. He clearly wasn’t used to people saying no to him, but Harry was all too happy to be the first. 

“I'm not some doll for you to play with! Let go of me!” Harry sputtered, cheeks flushing at such arrogant audacity. 

His protests did nothing to stop the handsome man from spinning him around, dragging him to the centre of the dancing circle. 

“No, no no, I can’t dance!” Harry hissed, digging his heels into the floor in a vain attempt to dragging his feet in the dirt in a vain attempt to escape the man’s persistent hold. Alas, the smooth floor offered no purchase for his resistant feet. 

“No need to worry darling. It would be my pleasure to lead. Follow me like a good boy and you’ll be fine.” 

Harry’s hackles were raised at the cloying endearments, but judging by the delighted look in the stranger’s eyes, such a reaction had been the man’s intention. 

Sodding git. 

They slid smoothly into the pulsing beat under the man’s careful guidance and Harry found it easy to keep up with him, albeit not down to any natural skill of his. 

“So, do I at least get the name of my kidnapper?” Harry didn’t bother hiding his annoyance, glaring up at crimson eyes. 

“Kidnapper? Oh, you mustn’t get caught up on such trivial things like kidnapping here.” The man brushed off Harry’s accusation with condescension. “But I suppose giving you my name is no hardship. You may call me Tom if that satisfies you.” 

“Tom?” Harry said in disbelief, the name feeling strange on his tongue. “If you’re going to lie to my face at least have the decency to put some effort into it.”

Tom barked a laugh and seemed surprised at himself for doing so. 

“I am not lying to you. Tom is the name my mother gave me. Why? Were you expecting something else?”

Harry hadn’t known what to expect. Tom... Wasn’t it. It seemed wrong, far too human for such an ethereal creature. 

“I dunno. Something more magical, I guess?” 

“Well, I’m sorry my name disappoints you so much.” He replied with mock hurt in his voice. “However, I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you,” he purred, his smirk creeping back onto his lips. 

The hand on his waist dipped and settled low on the curve of Harry’s back. He wanted to rip the presumptuous hand off but the pace of the dance grew faster, forcing Harry to cling tighter to Tom’s hard body. 

“What is this place then? I can’t still be in Little Hangleton’s forest. Someone would have noticed... whatever this place is.”

“You would be surprised at what humans refuse to notice. No matter how close it may be.” Contempt laced Tom’s voice. “As for what this place is, well, it is nowhere.” 

“Nowhere? What’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t appreciate Tom talking in riddles to him. Was it so hard to give him a straight answer?

“You have stumbled into a gap between time, stepped through a thin veil to enter a world of magic. You are a welcomed guest in my lands. I crafted this to be a shelter for lost and yearning souls. There is a price, of course, to stay in my sanctuary, but I do not think I ask for much in return for my generosity.”

“I’m not some bloody lost or yearning soul!” Harry cried indignantly. 

“There is no other way you could be here,” Tom insisted. “Are you sure there is nothing in your life you wish to escape? Something you lost perhaps? Does the thought of it cause you pain? It would be easy for me to take it away; help you forget whatever tragedy called you to me.” 

Tom’s sweet words were more seductive than any lingering touch.

The grief over his parents, his friends and the living hell that was life with the Dursley’s flooded him again in a sudden wave. His knees turned weak and Harry was reduced to nothing more than a rag doll in Tom’s arms. 

Could he really make it all disappear? Harry had come to the forest with that one desperate hope after all. Did Tom have the power to make it so? 

He wanted to take Tom’s enticing offer. Forget everything, lose himself in the magic of this nowhere place, dance to the bewitching music and finally take a bite of the plump peach. 

But wait. Did he really want to forget his parents? Lily’s sparkling laugh? James’ mischievous eyes? Would they want him to be happy in ignorance or would they want him to remember them? What about his friends? Would it be so easy to leave them behind? 

Was the price as small as Tom suggested?

“I-I don’t –” 

As if sensing Harry's resistance Tom interrupted him. 

“It’s getting late and I cannot keep you here forever. Not just yet. Promise me you will return, Harry. Your pretty face would be missed from my lands.” 

Harry nodded, suddenly too exhausted to speak. How long had they been dancing for? 

Tom drew closer until their bodies were pressed firmly together and kissed the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead. With the press of Tom’s lips, Harry felt his scar tingle pleasantly and he sunk into a comforting darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts or constructive criticism you may have!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh its been a while hasn't it? Oops, my bad. I am very sorry that this is so late but don't worry I swear to god I will finish this fic! Thank you to everyone who read, kudos and commented on the first chapter and a massive thanks to my wonderful beta. I have also finally posted the moodboard for this. Please enjoy its glittery splendour [here!](https://thecloudsthatglow.tumblr.com/post/182065258418/for-my-first-fic-the-king-of-nowhere-read-the)

Harry did not return the next night. Or the following night. He let the days stumble by in a dreary haze, trying his best to understand the strange events that occurred in the woods.

He had woken up after that extraordinary night in the lumpy bed the Dursley’s had given him, confused and vexed. His scar prickled unpleasantly, leaving an uneasy knot in his stomach. 

He could only vaguely recall what had happened: the alluring blue fog, the sumptuous banquet and the handsome man who stopped him from taking one measly bite. A heavy frustration filled his blood when he thought of it, yet he could not understand why. 

The man, who was the furthest thing from a man, had been utterly enchanting. The stranger had danced with Harry until he forgot his miserable life, whispering such sweet promises in his ear. A shameful burning heat licked his insides and his heart raced when Harry thought of him. Yet, it did not stop him from thinking of Tom (Harry eventually remembered his name). Tom infiltrated his mind whenever the Dursleys yelled, sneered or ridiculed him, whenever he thought of his parents and the terrible accident that had stolen them from him, leaving nothing but the ugly scar on his forehead. Harry sought solace in the charming memory of Tom. 

When the memory of Tom was not enough, Harry removed himself to the drafty attic that barely functioned as a bedroom. The Dursleys did not care - the less they saw of him, the better. 

The feeling was mutual. 

While the Riddle house had an endless supply of luxurious bedrooms, Harry was banned from them all. Vernon was quick to tell Harry that he was not welcome to set foot in them, living under the delusion that his ‘freaky’ nephew would burn the house down if left alone. It wasn’t a farfetched delusion: Harry was tempted by arson everytime the Dursleys opened their mouths. 

Shaking his head into his pillow, Harry banished all thoughts of Tom and the Dursleys as he woke on a brisk winters day, sunbeams fighting through the cold in an attempt to provide some warmth. The cold won out and had Harry snuggling back under the warmth of his duvet, planning to catch another ten minutes of blissful sleep.

“BOY!” A terrible yell reached Harry’s ears, disrupting the quiet calm of the attic. “GET DOWN HERE YOU LAZY, GOOD FOR NOTHING –.” Harry ignored the rest of Vernon’s insults, letting the words slide off him like congealed oil.

Scrambling out of bed, Harry dressed quickly, mourning the lost warmth. It wasn't wise to let Vernon to stew in his anger, even though there was little Harry could do to dispel it. His mere existence infuriated Vernon and only Harry’s imminent demise would bring his uncle any joy. 

“COMING!” Harry shouted back in to stop his uncle’s screaming fit. 

He raced down several flights of stairs and skidded to a stop in the grand dining room. Vernon and Petunia were the only ones sitting at the huge table. They looked small next to the surrounding empty chairs. Dudley was likely still in his warm bed and wouldn’t be up til gone noon. Lucky bastard. 

“What do you think you’re doing, thundering down the stairs like a madman!?” Vernon bellowed.

“Sorry Uncle,” Harry muttered looking glumly down at the small slice of grapefruit meant to be his breakfast. 

“Right well,” Vernon blustered on, his pudgy eyes narrowing at Harry. “Now you have finally graced us with your presence, I have a job for you.”

Harry arched his brow at his uncle as dread curled in his stomach. Since they had moved into the Riddle house, the Dursleys hadn’t forced Harry to do any of the chores as he had expected. Harry got the feeling that they didn’t trust him to have anything to do with the weird task Vernon’s company had set him. They always kept a watchful glare over him when he was below the attic.

“Don’t give me that look boy. You will do this job whether you like it or not. I don’t want to hear any complaints! Do you understand?” He said with a menacing growl. Harry only raised his brows further. 

“It might be helpful if you told me what the job was Uncle.” 

“Enough! I won’t take any snark from you, boy. You’re damn lucky we took you in at all after your useless parents got themselves killed. And this is what we get. Ungrateful little welp,” Vernon spat, as if there was a rotten taste in his mouth. 

Harry’s hand clenched around his spoon but he refused to rise to his uncle’s bait. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he heard Vernon spout utter bullshit about his parents. He had been too numb with grief at first to give anything more than a blank look. Now he didn’t bother fighting back as he would have have done before. There was nothing he could do or say to make it stop.

“Sorry Uncle,” Harry muttered again. 

“Shut your mouth and don’t interrupt me! I have been working tirelessly on this house’s affairs; it’s been left in a right state. This bloody Riddle family were too lazy to do it themselves,” Vernon complained, mostly to himself. “Anyway, it looks like they owned another property in this disgusting little village. Some shack where some delinquent family called the Gaunts lived. There should be some important paperwork there that I need. Some arrest warrants or some nonsense like that. Now you,” he said, while pointing a fat finger at Harry. “Will go to the Gaunts shack and retrieve them. I expect you to be back promptly so don’t dither about!”

Huh, it didn’t sound so bad. It would be nice to get out, away from the Dursleys despite the cold. He got up, happy to abandon his meagre slice of grapefruit and leave the imposing dining room.

“I’ll go now then, wouldn’t want to waste your time Uncle.” Harry couldn’t stop the trace of sarcasm from leaking into his voice. Luckily his uncle didn’t seem to notice. 

“Best idea you’ve ever had, boy, now get out of my sight!” 

Aunt Petunia looked suspicious but carried on acting as if Harry didn’t exist. He left without her saying a single word to him. 

Harry grabbed his warm winter coat, shoving his arms through the fluffy sleeves whilst trying not to think about how his mum has bought it only last year for him. Appropriately bundled up, he set off into snowy Little Hangleton. 

It was only when Harry reached the front gates of Riddle house that he realised he had no idea where the Gaunt shack was. His Uncle had failed to give him that small detail. Fucking perfect. No doubt Vernon would blame Harry for not finding the bloody place.

With his spirits low, Harry headed into the heart of the village. Hopefully a local could point him towards the Gaunt shack. 

He ploughed through a thick layer of snow for what must have been an age when he finally caught sight of someone to ask. It was a girl, a little younger than Harry with waist-length dirty blond hair and wide pale eyes. He found her sitting on a low section of a stone wall, reading a magazine upside down with her bare feet dangling in the chilly air. A string necklace of bottle caps dangled from her neck and she had large, red horseradishes hanging from her ears. She looked different in the ordinary setting of Little Hangleton and Harry was stumped at her appearance. 

“Err, hello?” Harry called out hesitantly, unsure if this odd girl could be of any help at all. She looked up from her magazine, a dreamy expression on her face when her gaze met Harry’s. 

“Hello, Harry Potter. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she smiled serenely at Harry, whose heart quickened in alarm.

“How do you know my name?” He questioned sharply. This girl was unnerving him.

She didn’t look at all fazed by Harry’s blunt questioning. If anything she was amused. “We haven’t had new people move here for years. It’s all anyone has been talking about. Your parents’ death only makes it more exciting for them. Harry Potter is a household name by now.”

He wasn’t comforted by her blasé response. “Of course,” he said bitterly. “Poor little orphans are so terribly exciting.”

“I think it’s the mysterious nature of the accident, not the orphan bit that caught their interest,” she reassured, completely missing the point. 

Harry didn’t want to hear another word of his parents’ death and quickly moved on to what he originally wanted to ask. 

“Look, forget that. Do you know the way to the Gaunt shack? I have no idea where it is and I should have been there by now.”

A large smile stretched her lips and she jumped off the wall, her bare feet sinking deep into the snow and the bottle caps clinking noisily together. “I can show you if you like?” 

“Uh yeah, that would be perfect actually.” 

Her smile grew into a toothy grin and she walked back up the main lane. Harry scowled at the thought of walking right past the shack without realising, then hurried to catch up with the strange girl. 

How she could walk so quickly with no shoes puzzled Harry, but she showed no sign that the cold bothered her.

“Um, why aren’t you wearing any shoes? Isn’t it uncomfortable? You must have frostbite or something,” he didn’t care if he sounded rude, at least he wasn’t talking about his dead parents’. 

“Oh they all disappeared, but I like not wearing them. I can finally feel the snow under my feet. You should try it, Harry.” 

Right, he was stuck following a mad girl. 

She looked down at his ratty trainers, as though she expected Harry to take her ludicrous suggestion. 

“I’m good thanks. I prefer to keep all my toes,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. A confused look crossed her face, but she elected to ignore him, walking further up the lane. 

“So uh, what’s your name then?” He said lamely, figuring that he should attempt to talk with the peculiar girl. 

“Oh,” she looked surprised. “It’s Luna, Luna Lovegood” 

“Luna...” It was the perfect name for her. “It suits you,” he mused. 

They fell into another awkward silence. Well, Harry was sure it was only him who felt awkward but still he scrambled to find something, anything to say. He thought of the forest and the night he dreamed of. Maybe he had overheard some gossiping villages talk about a weird local legend he didn’t pay attention too. One he then dreamt about. There was no way it could be real. 

“Hey, uh, Luna, do you know anything about the forest that surrounds this place? Are there any local stories about it?” He tried to sound casual, forcing his voice to be light.

“You mean the Forbidden Forest?”

“Forbidden?” Harry cried in a panic. “What kind of name is that?” 

Luna shrugged, unbothered by Harry’s reaction, and replied, “It is a forest and you shouldn’t enter it. I guess they thought the name would deter foolhardy souls from exploring it.” 

“Why on earth is it forbidden? It’s a forest, it can’t be that dangerous!” 

“Oh no, it’s not forbidden because it’s dangerous.” She laughed and Harry flushed, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It’s private property. The old family who owned it gave out harsh punishments to trespassers and even when they left, no one wanted to go in.” She paused, tilting her head at a slight angle, as though mulling something over. “Well, that and they also believe it’s under a curse.”

“Under a curse?” Harry spluttered. His relief at what he thought would be a normal and reasonable explanation drained from his body. Why did she have to utter anything about a curse?

“Yes, a curse,” she repeated. “So it’s not a popular place to visit. Which is a shame. My mother thought it to be the most beautiful place in England and I like to walk in there sometimes. It helps me remember her and no one ever wants to join me, so I get the whole forest to myself.”

A stab of pity twisted in Harry. They had both gone to the forest for the same reason. Both sought comfort in those tall trees. Harry lowered his head further when he felt embarrassing tears sting his eyes. God, he was sick to death of crying. 

“I’m sorry,” he said thickly, still not looking at her. 

“It’s quite alright Harry,” her voice was sweet and gentle but it only made his tears worse. “It was years ago. Time has a strange way of healing even the deepest wounds.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Harry chuckled wetly. 

Luna thankfully gave him some time to get himself together as they climbed up the steep lane. He mopped up his icy tears while the path curved, veering away from the village. 

“So what’s this curse?” He asked a little desperately, wanting to forget his little crying episode. 

“It all started with the old family that owned the forest, the Gaunts.” 

“The same Gaunts whose house we’re going to?” An ominous feeling rose in him. Harry always had a talent for attracting trouble and this wasn’t looking good for him. 

“Yes,” she answered with no further explanation. Harry didn’t know if he should be relieved or even more worried by her blunt response. “Not much is known about them. The Gaunts kept to themselves, living in the forest for generations. They used to keep many riches in there but it was always fiercely guarded.” 

“Oh, the harsh punishments you were talking about?” 

“Yes, for what good is a thief with no hands?” A chill ran down his spine at her words. Not even a thief deserved such a gruesome fate. Although his uncle would likely disagree with him. 

He followed Luna when she scurried through a gap in the tall hedgerow. Chunks of snow rained on Harry as he passed through the tight gap and he shook his messy hair when it hit him. Crisp untouched snow covered a narrow path that Luna was easily walking up, even in her bare feet. He cursed under his breath when he tripped over a pothole hidden by the damn snow. Luna had no problem navigating the rocky path, but it took Harry an enormous amount of effort to keep up with her. 

He grew uneasy when he saw that Luna was leading him to the edge of the forest. Of course the Gaunt shack would be in the forest, he realised with dread. The only thing that brought him comfort was Luna’s presence. At least he wouldn’t have to face the place on his own. 

“They grew weaker,” Luna continued, unaware of Harry’s discomfort. “But people still stayed away from their forest. It never lost its grisly reputation. By the end, the remaining Gaunts had nothing more than a shack and the trees.” They were growing closer to said trees, much to Harry’s dread. “Then one day a Gaunt ran away from the forest, taking the Riddle’s only son with her. After a year, the Riddle son came back. He told no one about where they went or what happened to the Gaunt girl. Only that she had tricked him into running away.” 

“How on earth could she have tricked him?” Harry questioned in incredulity. They had entered the forest now, the winter sun straining to follow them.

“I don’t think anyone knows how. Some of the more superstitious in the village claim witchcraft, but most believed he was lying to cover up the shame of running away with a tramp.” 

“Or of abandoning her,” Harry muttered in pity for the girl. Luna gave him a kind smile and continued with her story. 

“The Riddles and the Gaunts were determined to forget about the girl, to ignore each other. They were successful for a number of years but it could not last. On a winters night, some villages spotted the Riddles entering the forest. They never returned. Hide nor hair has been seen of the Riddle family ever since. Some nosier villages looked for the Gaunts, thinking they must have been involved with the Riddles disappearance. But they too had gone. Their shack was abandoned just like the Riddle house.” 

Luna stopped talking and Harry, engrossed in her story, took a while to see why. He looked around the dense throng of thick trunks until he finally spotted the shack hidden behind them. It didn’t look safe to touch, let alone enter. Half of the roof was missing, the exposed beams covered in snow and deadly looking icicles danged from the edge. Nettles that had somehow survived the winter covered small grimy windows and looked ready to take over the entire shack. 

Harry would have been glad to leave it to the nettles but he didn’t want to face Vernon’s wrath if he came back empty-handed.

“So that’s why everyone thinks its cursed? Because they both disappeared?” He said this mostly to delay entering the horrid little shack and gave a quiet moan of despair when Luna move towards it.

“It’s not the only reason. The Riddles and the Gaunts disappearance were only the first of many. One by one the entire staff of the Riddle house vanished along with their masters. Others from the village were taken. There is always someone who claimed to see them enter the forest. And even newcomers disappear. Often they’re tourists who seek the forest or people just passing through.” 

“Surely the police are doing something about it?” Harry exclaimed. “How could they overlook so many missing people? Why isn’t this national news?” 

“They find other explanations for it.” Her voice was no longer dreamy, instead it was unsettlingly hard. She pressed a small hand to the dark wood door, and it gave way for her with a long creak of protest. “Welcome to the Gaunt shack Harry,” her voice back to its usual dreamy self.

The shack somehow looked more decrepit on the inside. Whatever rumoured wealth they possessed had vanished like the Gaunts themselves. Three tiny rooms held all that the Gaunts left behind. Time and decay had ravaged most of it. Thick cobwebs decorated the ceilings and for once he was glad his best friend wasn’t with him. Ron would have bolted at the sight. His heart constricted when he didn’t see a flash of red hair or hear a familiar whimper of fear. It was stupid to expect it but the disappointment still stung. 

He shot Luna a wary glance when she sat down on a moth-eaten armchair, humming a strange tune. With a deep sigh, Harry got to work, searching every inch of the foul hovel for the oh-so important documents.

He glanced inside the kitchen and saw only rust coloured pots and faded spaces in the dusty floor where appliances and cupboards must have once stood. Harry then moved to one of the other tiny rooms, hoping they would be more promising. The first room he entered was dingy and dank with two narrow beds squeezed in. Other than a ratty wardrobe, nothing else fit inside the depressing bedroom. He pitied anyone who had to call this home. There was no doubt why the Gaunt girl would want to run away with a rich boy.

Searching under the beds gave Harry nothing but a nasty coughing fit when he inhaled the suffocating stale dust. To his utter disgust, one of the beds stored a horde of snake bones and he hurried out, not wishing to find any other sick treasures. 

The last room was no better than the first two. While it had the enviable possession of the largest bed in the shack, the overwhelming stench almost made him gag. A poisonous mix of rot and mould permeated the room, seeping through his pores.

He made to leave, desperate to breathe in the fresh air of the forest until he caught a stack of papers in the corner of his eye. A pitiful moan left his lips but he covered his mouth and nose in his t-shirt, determined to finish this.

Hurrying over, Harry took only a few foul breaths before gathering the entire stack of papers. He didn’t bother sorting through them, to see if they were the ones Uncle Vernon needed. The lazy oaf can look through the crumbling papers himself. Harry would not spend a second longer than he had to in this festering shack. Without a moment’s hesitation, he darted out the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“Harry, look at what I’ve found. It’s so pretty!” 

Luna was no longer humming in the armchair. Instead, she was kneeling by the empty fireplace surrounded by ripped up floorboards. A golden box sat open in front of her and Luna was gazing intently at something in her hand.

With his curiosity peaked, Harry strode over and knelt beside her. Inside the palm of her hand sat the ugliest ring he had ever set his eyes on. The poorly crafted band looked to be made of gold but was tarnished with age and neglect. A great big black stone with an odd symbol etched on it nestled in the band. 

For a moment he thought Luna must have been lying to him, or hiding the pretty object she was referring to. Yet, her eyes remained glued to it, enchanted by the ugly ring. 

She rose her head to meet Harry’s gaze; her face glowing with a serene smile. 

“It would look perfect on you Harry.” Before he had any time to protest, she grabbed his left hand and slipped the ring on his middle finger. 

Luna was right. It fit… perfectly. He felt whole, complete with the ring on. Harry would not take the ring off any sooner than he would chop his arm off. Raising his hand to the feeble streams of sunlight penetrating the dark shack, he admired the glittering black stone. He admonished himself for ever thinking it was ugly. It made a pretty picture on his hand as if it had always belonged there. 

Luna startled Harry out of the trance he’d fallen in when she pulled him to his feet.

“It wouldn’t do to linger here. We shouldn’t outstay our welcome.” 

He wanted to argue that there was no way to ‘outstay’ your welcome in an abandoned shack. Yet, now he was no longer so enraptured by the ring, Harry remembered his disgusting surroundings. Not wanting to stay here any longer, he let the argument die on his lips and allowed Luna to lead him away. 

“It was nice meeting you, Harry Potter,” Luna said out of the blue, startling Harry. 

“You’re going?” The shock clear in his voice.

“Yes, I have to meet someone, but I hope I’ll see you around!” She gave a cheerful wave and with that, disappeared into the trees.

Luckily Harry could just about remember the way back without getting lost in the thick trees and all too soon was back at Riddle house. He saw none of the Dursleys when he entered the ostentatious entrance hall. Not that he bothered seeking them out.

After dumping the papers on the dining table, Harry climbed the many staircases up to the attic and flopped onto his bed. Snuggling into the warmth of his duvet, he tried to let his thoughts wander away from the forest and everything Luna had revealed to him. But he could not stop them from endlessly circling around his mind. It was like the answers were dangling right in front of him, just out of reach. There was something funny going on in Little Hangleton and he felt inextricably involved. 

So consumed with his thoughts, Harry did not notice the slow closing of his eyes or the wave of exhaustion crashing over him until it was too late. He was submerged in a familiar, comforting darkness. 

When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t to the same view of his desolate attic room. No, instead his vision was filled with unnatural blue light, snow-covered trees, and a tall, handsome figure.

He was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts or constructive criticism you may have!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look I'm alive! Sorry for updating months late, the woes of a slow writer. I've also updated the rating and tags (you get to see my first smutty scene!) so please have a look at them in case there's something you're uncomfortable with.

_He was back._

  
Back in the eerie but still enchanting circle he half remembered as a dream. The same large gathering from before danced at the centre to the same beat that made Harry’s pulse quicken. He stood in the same opening to the circle he burst through the last time, on the very edge and right in front of Tom, who stared unabashedly at him.  
  
Harry froze, pinned by the look Tom levelled at him. His hungry gaze raked over Harry and he gave a satisfied smile, clearly happy with what he found. In the blurred memories of this strange place, Harry had forgotten how handsome the arrogant man was. It was a little uneasy to face it again and the intense scrutiny didn’t help matters. Yet, Harry felt drawn to Tom despite his better judgement. It was as if Tom always knew Harry would come to him. An inevitable matter of fate.

Unfortunately, Tom wasn’t alone. A fair-haired, freckled young man who had a boyish charm about him stood close by. A small voice in his head grumbled too close, but he crushed it with the iron strength of shame. He tried not to feel disappointed that he didn’t have Tom all to himself like last time. They faced each other in an intimate, conspiratorial manner that Harry envied. He must have interrupted something important and his petty desire didn’t take precedence.

The stranger shared the same pointed ears and unnatural beauty, though it paled in comparison to Tom’s. His sharp blue eyes cut through Harry, assessing him with a clinical detachment. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of being fresh meat for these two beautiful men.

While still looking at Harry, Tom raised and flicked his hand, dismissing the young man, much to Harry’s secret relief.

“You know what to do, Barty,” Tom commanded in a smooth, clear tone that brokered no argument. He sounded like a man you obeyed without question.

As if to mock Harry, Barty grabbed Tom’s dismissing hand and placed a loving kiss to his fingers. An embarrassed heat flushed his cheeks and an unpleasant tightness squeezed his heart at the sight. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?

Tom’s lips curved into a small smirk as if amused by a mischievous pet. Barty did not miss Harry’s narrowed eyes, shooting him a lascivious wink and a shit-eating grin before turning back to Tom like he’d forgotten his presence.

“It would be an honour, My Lord,” he said with utmost reverence, bowing low before leaving. Harry watched until Barty melted into the crowd and disappeared from his sight. A flicker of satisfaction burned at seeing him go. He was finally alone with Tom.

 

“Harry,” he drawled, enunciating his name as if tasting it like a fine wine. “You kept me waiting.” His cold tone sent a surge of unwanted guilt through Harry. He would have been happy to leave this as a dream, but now he was facing the consequences of breaking a half-forgotten promise.

“I thought it was all a dream. I …” he scrambled desperately for any kind of excuse. “I didn’t know how to return." His ears burned at how weak he must have sounded, but it was technically true. It’s not like there were any signposts for this place and what else was he meant to say? That he forgot? Had wanted to forget? He almost physically cringed away when Tom responded with a sharp laugh.

“Pathetic. I made it so easy for you to find me. So I can only conclude that you did not want to. Yet, I cannot fathom any good reason why you were so determined to forget me.”

Why hadn’t Harry returned? The night he’d spent with Tom had been extraordinary. Dancing in Tom’s arms, forgetting everything else for just a moment. Why did he want to deny Tom? Seeing him again and facing his disappointment made it hard to draw up the uneasy from that morning after.

“Were you scared?” Tom murmured darkly. He held Harry captive with his words, his teeth flashing like knives even in the dim light. “Are you so much of a coward you would run from your only chance of escape? Or do you enjoy your miserable little life?” He advanced closer, stalking with all the grace of a predator until he towered over Harry. They were a hair’s breadth away from each other though Tom didn’t move to touch him. Not yet, at least. “I can make it so much worse,” Tom crooned. “You’ve only glimpsed misery. But don’t worry, I’ll let you taste the true delights of Hell. Unlike you, I keep my promises.”

The utter indignity of Tom’s threats set Harry ablaze, banishing the heavy guilt. Who was he to lay such false accusations at his feet? To hurl such words at him? To call him a coward?

The image of the fair-haired young man looking at Tom with such rapture, giving the title of My Lord, sparked an uneasy realisation. Perhaps he was dealing with a powerful authority which he had been blind too last time. Not that it cooled his sparking rage. It only cemented his creeping doubts; there was nothing to trust in this place. At least Tom had shown his true colours before Harry was in too deep.

“What gives you the fucking right-” Harry spat before Tom seized his wrist in a painful hold pulling him closer, pressing him to his body. Tom’s hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his protest. Harry trembled, with fury or fear he wasn’t sure, but he hated that Tom felt it while he stood with arrogant ease. He wanted to bite Tom’s bloody fingers and tear himself away from him.

“But you’re here now,” Tom said with surprising gentleness, throwing Harry completely. He moved his hand away to cup Harry’s jaw as if sensing Harry’s intention to bite it, stroking his cheek like he was a beloved pet. “So I will forgive all.”

Harry didn’t buy his sudden mood change. With his mouth no longer covered he was ready to shout his own insults back at him. In his furore, Harry hadn’t noticed Tom curling his fingers around the hand adorned with the heavy ring, caressing the cold stone.

A soothing balm cooled his mind and any words of anger drifted lazily away until he forgot them altogether. His rage had dissipated in a matter of seconds, drowned by a hazy contentment.

What had possessed him to speak that way to Tom? Beautiful, honourable Tom, who had shown him such kindness. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, to grovel on his knees before him.

Tom hummed in satisfaction, brushing a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry pushed lightly into Tom’s hand, lulled by the touch, wanting more. “That’s better,” Tom purrs. “Come, I have something I want to show you.”

Harry only nodded and eagerly followed Tom.

Leading Harry away from the circle, Tom lured him into the surrounding line of trees and thick snow. Once enveloped by the shadows Harry was blind to everything but Tom. He pulled Harry deeper within the forest, looking straight ahead and not sparing a glance towards him. Something in Harry was desperate to see Tom’s face, to edge closer, touch more of his glowing skin. He fantasised about the brief but glorious moment when their bodies were pressed against each other and Tom had him in such a gentle hold. Harry wanted, needed more of Tom.

Tom stopped abruptly and Harry almost stumbled into the back of his soft robe. He finally turned to look at Harry, gifting him with a charming smile. It struck him like a blow, stealing his breath. He never wanted to tear his eyes away, content with staring at his perfect image forever. It was only at Tom’s light nudge that Harry reluctantly looked away to the scene beyond him.

They were at the fringe of a large glade holding a crystal clear spring. The spring defied the freezing temperatures gripping Little Hangleton, refusing to let any ice touch its waters. It was still, silent as though it consumed all sounds with a ravenous appetite.

Tom said nothing and Harry was reluctant to break the silence, unwilling to disturb the glade. There was a quiet demand for respect laced in the crisp air, something sacred in the water. Not that Tom cared. He sauntered to the shore destroying the pristine view like he had all the right too, dragging Harry along with him. Chunks of snow fell within the spring at Tom’s steps, melting to form a layer of rolling steam.

Letting go of his hand (much to Harry’s dismay) Tom slid effortlessly through the water. His clothes disappeared in a curl of smoke revealing the exquisite expanse of his pale back. Turning around to face Harry, Tom stretched out his arm beckoning him into the spring.

Harry hesitated, flustered and unsure of Tom’s intentions. A coil of wrongness tightened around his heart. There was something he was missing, something begging for his attention.

“Come, Harry. Trust me you’ll enjoy it,” Tom’s silky voice drifted over the rippling water. The ring that Harry had all but forgotten about grew hot on his finger and all his doubts drifted away.

Stumbling in his haste to join him, Harry’s entrance was far less elegant, but Tom didn’t seem to mind and only looked amused at his impatience. His clothes disappeared the same as Tom’s, not that Harry cared all that much. It was only natural for both of them to be naked.

Submerged to his waist by the time he reached Tom, Harry’s mouth dried at the intimate sight of Tom’s bare chest. Unable to stop his hungry gaze from taking in every inch of exposed skin, he flushed when Tom laughed.

 

“You can do more than stare,” he said with a wicked grin.

 

At Tom’s words, Harry was engulfed with the urge to touch, needing to know the texture of his skin, to feel the firm sculpted muscles underneath. Before he knew it, he was caressing Tom with impatient, greedy hands; mapping out his entire chest, slim sides and taut back.

 

Consumed by the euphoria gripping him, he mouthed at the perfect skin of Tom’s chest, wanting to taste every inch of him. As he slowly made his way up, he was mesmerised by the sight of Tom’s pink and pebbled nipples. There was no resisting the need to take a nipple in his mouth with a frenzied, desperate want. Moaning lowly around it, he licked the hard nub for a glorious taste of Tom and relished his resulting sharp intake of breath.

“An eager little thing, aren’t you?” Tom chuckled, weaving fingers through Harry’s hair and grasping his roots.

When Harry's teeth scraped over his nipple, Tom’s grip turned painful and ripped him away, tilting his head up to capture Harry’s mouth in a violent kiss. He couldn’t stop his lips from parting, releasing an embarrassing noise of startled pleasure. Tom was quick to exploit it, sliding his tongue in, devouring him whole. It was utterly filthy but Harry revelled in the lewdness, letting Tom deepen it and pressing closer to shamelessly rut against him.

Left breathless, overwhelmed by Tom who took more than Harry thought possible to give, stripping him bear with a kiss. Tom surrounded him, traced every inch of his mouth with his clever tongue, entwining their bodies so Harry thought he would melt into him. There is no escape from this, not that he wanted to.

It was bliss and Harry wanted to stay in the embrace forever, not caring about the loud moans Tom swallowed greedily. But Tom’s appetite only grew and he feasted on Harry like a starved man at a sumptuous banquet. He turned manic, unhinged and Harry struggled to keep up, to breathe between kisses.

Teeth plunged deep into his bottom lip, drawing a copious amount of blood and displacing the heady pleasure with a nauseous terror. Harry screamed into the kiss, helpless to stop Tom forcing the blood down his throat, smearing it over both their lips. Tom kept kissing him, ignoring Harry’s struggle at the rough force and sharp press of teeth. He moaned, sucking on Harry’s bleeding bottom lip forcing tears to spill on his cheeks.

Abruptly, Tom pulled back giving Harry the chance to gulp down a sweet lungful of air. He looked down at him with a satisfied yet bloody grin. His tongue traced his lips with slow, deliberate licks and Harry did nothing but watch on as Tom savoured the taste of his blood in obvious delight.

With the performance over, Harry obeyed his every instinct and turned to flee. Eyes on the shore, he made to run, desperate to be free of Tom’s overbearing hold. Why hadn’t he run from the start? What possessed him to follow Tom like some naïve fool?

His escape was cut short by the forgotten hand in his hair that had gone lax during the kiss. With a sharp jerk, his head snapped back and he lost his footing in the soft sand. He fell back into Tom’s hold, his back pressed to Tom’s chest, the water crashing against their naked skin.

He tried to slow his galloping heart, suck deep breaths into his useless lungs, holding his shoulder taut to stop tremors from wracking his body. The earlier peace that had slunk languid like honey under his skin turned poisonous, held him hostage, refusing to let him think. Trapped like some cornered rabbit with nowhere left to run to, he never felt so weak.

“Rude boy,” Tom chided, splaying his finger across Harry’s abdomen and moving the hand buried in his hair to Harry’s throat, pinning Harry to him. The unmistakable hard length pressing against his arse forced a small whimper out of Harry. Tom responded with a cruel laugh and a mocking roll of his hips.

He wanted with every fibre of his being to get away from this godforsaken place, clear his head of its sticky influence. His life with the Dursleys may be awful but at least it made sense. There was none of this confusion, conflicting wants or desires. Tom was deliberately making it difficult for him. His hands dipped under the water and teased the sensitive skin of his crotch, his nipples brushed tantalisingly against Harry’s back. All the while his nails left deep red scratches along the top of his thigh. Tom’s hold radiated an inescapable possessiveness. He touched Harry’s body like he owned him like he had every right to it. The gentle caresses and marks of pain clouded his head as they wove together, engulfing his body.

“I-I don’t feel – there’s something wrong, Tom please -”

“Shh, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tom lied. “But to run away over a little bite? I expected better from you.” His velvet smooth voice rang like a caress over Harry’s fear.

But it hadn’t been just a little bite. Harry’s lip still stung fiercely and the copper taste of fresh blood filled his mouth. The image of Tom licking the blood away from his own lip was burned into Harry’s mind. His handsome face twisted in sadistic pleasure. It was a grotesque contrast to the Tom who brought Harry comfort, gave him a chance to forget his miserable life.

Only then did it hit him. His every doubt, every question about Tom and the anger that coursed through his veins at Tom’s earlier threats; a persistent niggle that refused to be ignored.

Tom’s fingers slid down to Harry’s shamefully hard cock while he was distracted, demanding his attention. His slow glide only served to set Harry’s nerves on edge, but Tom’s hold was sticky as a spider’s web and any struggle would be useless.

“The missing people!” Harry blurted out, thinking wildly for any kind of diversion. He didn’t care much about the answer, he just needed it all to stop, slow down so he could get his bearings. Tom stiffened at Harry’s outburst and thankfully his hand stilled too.

“What missing people?” Tom asked with seeming indifference.

“A, uh, friend told me about people from the village and strangers who visit going missing. She said they walk into this forest and are never seen again.” Harry struggled to remember everything Luna said, even though they had talked that same day. Maybe something would make sense about all this, Tom might give him something he could understand.

A heavy silence fell and Harry wished for a second to be facing Tom again. He wanted to know if his face betrayed any kind of reaction to his words.

“They come here, you lure them here and you won’t let them leave,” Harry whispered, laying the accusation at his feet. It was all beginning to click in his head. The magic of this place, Tom’s thrilling lure and all his contradictions. All connected to the mysteries of Little Hangleton.

The memory of the man Tom called Barty came to him. “My Lord,” he breathed in understanding. “You’re the king aren’t you?”

“Clever boy,” Tom purred in approval. “And I suppose you're right, in a sense. But it’s nothing quite as sinister as you want to believe, Harry. They don’t go missing, they run away and I take all who wish to join me. I embrace them with open arms, give them an eternity of pleasure, let them forget the horrors of their past and all for a small price. I am a humble collector of lost souls, not some monster lurking in the woods praying on the innocent as you might wish to believe. They don’t leave because none of them want to.”

Harry still didn’t know if he could believe Tom. It was such a pretty world he painted.

“A small price? For an eternity of pleasure?” Harry repeated. “It can’t be so small.”

As if to prove his offer Tom grasped his cock, cupping it in his palm and engulfing Harry with blistering heat. He tortured Harry with lazy strokes and held his hips in an iron grip, stopping Harry from fucking into his tight fist. Closing his eyes with a frustrated whine, he still had the sense to see what Tom was doing.

“S-stop distracting me. It’s not fair,” Harry panted, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

“Oh, but darling,” Tom’s voice rang with false pity and dug his thumb into Harry’s sensitive slit, making his legs tremble at the obscene bliss. Fluttering his eyes opens, Harry choked on a gasp clawing unbidden from his dry throat. “You don’t want me to stop. And how could I? Not when your body begs so prettily.”

Tom took hold of Harry’s jaw, tilting it up, pressing a delicate kiss to the shell of his ear. “This is only a small drop of what I can give you if you would only let me.” His pace only marginally increased but it was enough to drive Harry wild with pure want. It surged through his body, honey thick and feverish. All the while Tom whispers deadly sweet nothings to him, threatening to crumble his already weak defences.

“You offer them the same thing you offered me.” He wondered if any of those dancing figures from his first night here had had any doubts. If any thought like him that it was too good to be true. Or was he the anomaly? The fool condemning himself to hell when he was offered a place in heaven.

“I offer only joy and bliss for eternity. Humans have waged wars, fought to the death for less. I ask for little in return, a small price for all the wonders I will share.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “You never said the other night, what the price was. A small price to you might be more than I can give.”

“I know you can afford it Harry, don’t fret. You would pay so sweetly for it.” Tom’s hold was gentle but suffocating, the touch on his cock soft and torturous. Every slow twist of his wrist sent sparks up his spine, making him arch back in Tom’s hold. Harry felt like he could melt into Tom, give his entire being to him. It would be easy, painless. “I want your submission, your loyalty, your heart, soul and body. For you to stay by my side and never leave. I ask you to join my circle. To join me.”

“That’s far from a small price” Harry whispered, voice breathy as Tom leaned down and mouthed at his neck. Teeth nibbled at the delicate skin, pressing harder, making Harry hate that he started to enjoy the hint of pain.

“But, what happens to those who refuse? Someone must have”

Tom laughed as if the very notion was absurd and Harry could feel the rumble of Tom’s chest against his back. “No one has ever refused. No one has ever wanted to.”

A sick twist curled in his stomach at the certainty of Tom’s words. Was it even true? Was it really such an easy thing to say yes too? The throbbing of his lip cut through him, a reminder. Was it all a lie? A fantasy for him to peddle for sad fools like Harry?

Yet, he couldn’t stop the temptation from burrowing itself into his heart. Would it damn him if he said yes to Tom? To forget his pain forever. Is that not what he wanted?

Pleasure coiled tight in his abdomen and his skin prickled in anticipation. He was so close to the edge, eyes closed, focusing only on the feel of Tom on him. Teeth bit into the flesh of his neck, threatening and tantalizing all at once.

“Please, please, Tom,” Harry begged, the words slipping out against his will.

“Say yes, Harry. Join me.” His breath fanned over the dark bruises he’d undoubtedly given Harry. His hand tightened almost painfully and his pace grew furious. It was too much, not enough, overwhelming in its entirety. Tom’s demand tore at his already conflicted heart.

 

“No.” It came out small, weak and Harry didn’t know why he said it. It felt like a self-inflicted curse on his lips, made a reality when Tom froze in response. Harry whined, desperate for release and mourning as it crept away from him.

 

“No?” His voice was deathly cold. Harry sensed that he had broken some unwritten rule of this place. It seemed Tom was not used to being told no. He raised his head from Harry’s neck, standing tall behind him and digging his sharp nails into Harry’s jaw.

“A stubborn one aren’t you,” Tom hummed, pressing his nails deeper. “Can’t say I don’t enjoy it, but my patience will not last forever Harry.”

The warm strong body encircling him turned to smoke and Harry yelled as he fell back expecting to crash into warm water. Yet, when his eyes shot open he was back on the uncomfortable bed in the Riddle house, drenched in sweat.

To his utter dismay, his cock was hard and leaking, just as Tom had left it. He grasped it immediately and with a few urgent strokes, came over his hand far too quickly. There was no satisfaction in it.  
Left with a deep-seated disappointment and ruined sheets, Harry turned over tucking his wilted cock back into his pyjamas. Burrowing his head into his pillow to wallow in self-pity, he tried to ignore the stinging pain in his lip. His room was still dark but he had no idea what the time was. How long had he slept? Had he even been asleep or just away? His brain was too sluggish from his weak orgasm to bother wrapping his head around such questions. All he wanted was to drift off, forget everything for a little while.

But something was determined to thwart his plans.

A familiar soft haze washed over him and he sunk easily into the fog calling him out of bed. He obeyed unthinkingly. Creeping through the dark labyrinth of hallways, not bothering with any lights. Even though he had only lived in the manor for a few weeks and explored little of it, it felt like he knew every inch of the place. He knew where he needed to go, was so sure it was where he needed to be right at that moment.

He almost didn’t notice when he stopped in the doorway of the dining room he had left only that morning. Bathed in bright moonlight Harry was able to clearly see the scene laid out for him. Much to his horror.

Three figures sat at the table, even though it had been set for a dozen or more. It made for a lonely feast but that, Harry thought in a brief moment of humour, was the least of their worries.

Served on fine china plates he’d never seen before, garnished with elaborate flowers and fruits, were the heads of Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Their decapitated bodies sat opposite, knife and fork in stiff hands, wearing formal clothes usually reserved for Vernon’s awful dinner parties. Beautifully decorated bowls held gory servings of guts and entrails so big they spilled over like worms trying to escape. A sickening amount of blood pooled on the table, soaking the embroidered linen napkins, dripping on the hardwood floor.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off their faces. He expected a painting of agony, for mouths to be gruesomely twisted in the echoes of a scream or eyes wide with terror. They were nothing of the sort. Instead an unnatural calm possessed all them, faces slack in serenity and lips curved in disturbing smiles.

Harry tasted bile at the back of his throat and clamped trembling fingers over his open mouth. He shook his head, trying to deny what he saw but his eyes refused to close, to turn away from their grinning heads. He may have hated the Dursleys in the short time he had to live with them, but they didn’t deserve this. No one did.

His knees threaten to buckle, the threat of falling in the blood was the only thing keeping them up. Something pulled him forward, making him take small steps towards the table even though he wanted to run and forget what he saw. He crashed into it, almost knocking off some of the plates in his bid to stop moving.

Harry almost jumped out of his own skin when his hand landed on something that wasn’t the hardwood of the table. Looking down he was relieved to find it was only the papers he’d found in the Gaunt house. Only they weren’t mouldy anymore but crisp and blinding white rather than yellow with time and decay. Were they even the same papers he’d found? They had to be, they were in the exact same place he had left them that evening. Picking up the first page, Harry started reading; grateful for the distraction. It was, however, short-lived.

He hadn’t bothered to look them over when he retrieved them from the Gaunt house and it seemed that was a terrible mistake. They weren’t the documents or arrest warrants Uncle Vernon had asked for. Rather they looked like ripped out pages from a diary and all in his own messy handwriting.

It was a damning account. It started off fine, complaints about the Dursleys and the diet they were all on for Dudley. He might have believed he’d actually written if it weren’t for the fact that he’d never kept a diary or had any memory of writing it.

But what starts as normal teenage grumbling quickly dissolves into a manic, deranged rant from a crude serial killer show. It recounts graphic and sickening descriptions of how to butcher the Dursleys, making Harry gag but he didn’t stop reading. The passages of the many vivid torture fantasies made their actually beheading practically merciful. He describes with a wild joy about finding a beautiful sharp axe in the old gardener’s house, celebrating as the final piece of his plan fell into place. It was all there, the means, motive and weapon. And who signed this irrefutable, detailed murder plot? Harry James Potter.

He had to hide it, no burn, destroy it. Make sure no one else ever set eyes on it.

Who could have done this? What would they have to gain from it? The thought of Tom slithered into his head, being pressed against him as he whispered such tempting words into his ear. Harry flushed, ashamed to think of that at a time like this.

Yet, he still lingered on him. Tom who was so insistent Harry join him and so cold when Harry rejected him. Would he do all this for Harry? Make him desperate enough that he can’t refuse him anymore? But, no Tom was with him the entire night, there was no way he killed them. Even if he wanted too there was no way he did it in the time it took for Harry to find the bodies. He would have heard something at the very least.

Harry gathered together all the pages, not reading whatever sick lies the rest held to incriminate him. When he turned to flee, desperate to get rid of them, he hadn’t even made it out of the room before his arms were empty. Whipping back around he saw them in the exact same place on the table. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed them again and the same thing happened. He tried again and again but nothing changed. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill. No, he refused to go down for the Dursleys’ murders.

The loud wail of sirens pierced the unearthly silence of the dining room, red and blue lights drowning out the moonlight. With nowhere to go and no way to destroy the paper, a profound sense of despair washed over Harry. He had run out of time.

It sufficed to say that poor orphaned Harry was well and truly fucked.


End file.
